The Sinner. Amanda Stevens
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be. When is she coming?”
“Not until next week, unfortunately. In the meantime, I’ve called in a forensic anthropologist from Charleston that can help with the identification of any skeletal remains we uncover. And I’d like you to come into the morgue this afternoon and take a look at the victim. If you’ve no objection.”
“I’ve no objection. I’m more than willing to help in any way I can, but as I told you yesterday, I know very few people in the area. The odds that I’ll be able to make a positive identification are slim.”
“I understand that. But the victim was alive for a period of time after she was buried. Which means there’s a chance she got to that clearing under her own steam. Maybe she was coerced or lured there or maybe she came of her own free will. In any case, unless she was taken there by way of the swamp, she would have likely come through or at least near the cemetery, perhaps in the company of her killer.”
I felt a chill go through me. I hadn’t considered that possibility.
“Even with so little traffic, it’s still possible you saw something and don’t remember it,” he said. “A face in a car window or someone in the woods. All I ask is that you view the remains with an open mind.”
I nodded. “When do you want me to come in?”
“Let’s say one o’clock. I’ll meet you there and walk you through it.”
“Thanks.”
“No need to thank me. I would never expect you to do this alone. Although...” His gaze swept over me, deep and fathomless. “You strike me as someone who is more than capable of taking care of herself.”
For some reason, I didn’t think he meant it as a compliment.
* * *
I left the cemetery in time to stop by the house for a quick shower and change of clothes before I drove into town. The silence of the place bothered me now that I knew the grisly history, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the story Kendrick had told me. There would be time enough later to explore the rooms with a new eye and perhaps even take a stroll through the orchard to the shed.
For now, I busied myself with the mundane tasks of drying my hair and refilling Angus’s water bowl on the back porch and then propping open the screen door so that he could come and go as he pleased. But I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder now and then. I couldn’t help thinking that the vibe of the house had been subtly altered by my newfound knowledge.
I chalked it all up to imagination as I drove into town and followed Kendrick’s directions to the hospital morgue. I didn’t relish the task that lay before me. The last time I’d been near a morgue, the voices of the dead had filled my head, making me aware of another terrifying aspect of my gift. I’d later come to believe that the recently deceased had somehow opened a door, allowing the trapped and restless souls of Kroll Cemetery to make contact with me. Once the ghosts had been released, the voices had faded, though I didn’t expect the silence to last for much longer. Not after my discovery of those mortsafes.
Kendrick waited for me at the front desk. After we signed in, an attendant showed us back to a room where the body had been placed on a stainless steel table, awaiting autopsy. He went around to the far side of the table and I stepped up to the near side. He gave a nod and the attendant peeled back the sheet that covered the body.
I braced myself for the possibility of seeing a familiar face staring up at me, but I didn’t recognize the dead woman and I was thankful for that.
The first thing that struck me was the condition of the body. She hadn’t been prepped for the postmortem, which surprised me. She was still fully dressed in jeans and a band T-shirt, her face and arms streaked with grave dirt and her long, dark hair matted with leaves and twigs. A silver cross glinted in the hollow of her throat and a series of ruby studs ran from her lobes all the way up into her cartilage. One of the studs was missing, I noted.
She looked to be my age, late twenties or perhaps a year or two younger. She was slim, almost petite, but even in death, she appeared strangely dauntless. She wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, I thought, though I saw no evidence of a struggle on her body.
“Do you recognize her?” Kendrick asked.
I could feel his gaze on me across the table. I shook my head as my hand crept to the key around my neck. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“You’re sure? Take a closer look.”
“I am looking. I don’t remember ever having seen her before.” But even as the words slipped out, something tugged at the corner of my memory. Had I seen her before?
And just like that, an image came back to me. The flash of those ruby earrings as a dark head tossed. The glimpse of a tattoo as a hand lifted to open a glass door.
Whether the memory was real or imagined, I had no idea. It was there one moment and gone the next.
“Can I see her left arm?” I asked.
Kendrick gave me a quizzical look, but he said nothing as he nodded to the attendant and she lowered the sheet.
“Can you turn it so that I can see her wrist?”
The woman complied and I leaned in to get a better look at the tattooed words on the pale flesh as I muttered the phrase aloud, “Memento mori.”
I jerked back in shock as the import of the message sank in.
“What is it?” Kendrick asked.
“Her tattoo...”
“It’s Latin, right? What does it mean?”
I lifted my gaze to his. “Remember to die.”
I had only a few moments to speak with Detective Kendrick before he was called away on another case. I didn’t mention the memory of those flashing rubies. Until I knew if the image was real and what it might mean, I saw no need to draw more attention to myself. A stranger in town was an easy target for suspicion so I needed to be careful in my dealings with the police. My discovery of the body had already elicited a certain amount of curiosity, if not outright distrust, and I certainly didn’t want the killer to cast an eye in my direction. For now, it was in my best interest to remain on the periphery of Kendrick’s investigation.
I had intended on returning to the cemetery to finish the section of headstones I’d started that morning, but as I drove through town, the enticing aromas drifting out from the restaurants along Main Street reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Normally, I would have stopped by the house for a quick bite or taken something back to the cemetery with me, but today I felt compelled to dine among the living. I parked the car, got out and walked over to the café where I’d eaten a few times since my arrival in Ascension.
As I paused to study the lunch menu taped to the plate-glass window, the reflection of the building across the street caught my eye. A large skeleton key had been painted on the window in gold leaf. I’d noticed it before and had always meant to stop in because the gilded key reminded me of the one I wore around my neck. I had no idea of the nature of the business. There was no other adornment on the window, no name or street number on the door.
As I returned my attention to the menu, a memory fluttered at the back of my mind. I saw again the flash of those ruby earrings as the sunlight caught them. I glimpsed the curlicue of that tattooed message as a slender hand lifted to open the glass door. And now something else came to me—behind that gilded key, a lurking silhouette inside the shop.
The memory...the image...whatever it was wavered for a moment and then vanished. I turned slowly toward the building, heart tripping at the implication. If those vague flickers could be trusted, then sometime before her death, the victim had visited that shop. She might even have gone there to meet the person who had waited inside. I tried to remember when I might have seen her. My last trip into